Disclaimer: WARNING: Graphic violence and abuse depicted in this story. Read at your own discretion!
I do not own Street Fighter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Author's Disclaimer: This story contains content of a highly disturbing psychological nature that may be offensive to some readers: including but not limited to abuse, rape, and torture/violence. Please DO NOT read if you are likely to be offended! STREET FIGHTER and characters such as Vega are owned by CAPCOM. I make no profit in this work of fiction. For entertainment only.

My mother was pure and innocent; the fragrance of red roses scented her pale skin. Her long blonde hair was as warm as the Barcelonan sun that shone on it, and her eyes as blue as the sky. It was the one thing that I remembered of her--the smell of red roses and the bitterness of blood and tears that stained her precious skin—how the taste lingered on my lips when kissed her cheek. It mixed together in my mouth like my first taste of red wine. Even as a child, I tasted it and it was comforting and horrible all at once. When she smiled, it was rare and it was like the heavens opened up only for a brief moment, and then all would be dark and still. My father took away her smiles and replaced them with frowns. He with his cold, blue piercing eyes, his face set so jaggedly against his smooth skin. He kept his dark brown hair coifed with a heavy oil-slick of pomade and with this I knew a different smell—the smell of anger and fear...

I watched with horror as he threw my mother to the ground and she hit the wall. She seemed to shatter like porcelain. I went to help her but I felt a strong, painful grip on my arm.

“No, boy.” he said sternly and I could see his anger flashing.

“Vega!” she cried, struggling to pull herself up from the ground.

“Mama!” I exclaimed, fighting to pull from his grasp.

“What have I told you, boy? She is a whore! Nothing but and she'll spread her legs for anyone--even you...” Papa said matter-of-factually.

“No! How could you say that, Papa?”

I looked to Mama, who sat up now, still sprawled on the floor like a doll. She shook her head and whimpered.

“It isn't true...” she whispered. Papa glared at her.

“No, no...” she moaned. “Miguel, please.”

I looked back at my father, trying to understand. Why would he say such a thing? Why? I freed myself and ran to Mother, wrapping my arms around her and weeping against her neck.

“Oh that's right, Vega. Go to Mama now. Suck her tit like always. You will never be a man. Never! And I will not have a son who is not a man!”

I was outraged and I stood up, ready to defend myself.

“I will be a man, Papa! And I will be a better man than you...” I hissed back. “Mama is not a whore and she is more kind, more beautiful than you ever will be!” Papa grabbed her again and began to drag her across the floor to her feet, pinning her against the wall. He pressed against her as she continued to cry.

“If you love her so much, then prove it.” He growled at me, as he reached under her blue silk dress and began to pull down her panties. He spread her thighs with his knee between them.

“No!” I screamed and I could see Mama, with her face pressed against the wall still begging him to stop.

“Go on boy!” He yelled again, grabbing me by the arm and throwing me at her, gesturing at my pants. I shook my head angrily.

“Never.” and I stepped away.

“Go, Vega! Get out of here!” she cried out and she was met with my father's hand grabbing a fist full of her golden hair and pulling her head back. She screamed and I felt my body lock in place.

“No. You will stay. I'm going to show you that your mother is a whore.” said my father in a gruff voice and his ice blue eyes sparkled in an evil light.

“Please, Vega, go!” sobbed Mother once more.

I threw myself into the corner and shielded myself with my arms. I could not bear to know what he would do...but I heard the sound of his buckle being undone and the zipper... I heard him give a loud grunt, the smacking of flesh and her cries.

“You can't deny it, Victoria.” he hissed between his thrusts into her ear. “I saw you with those men at the Ambassador's Ball last weekend!”

“No, it's not-not-what you think, Miguel. I...I was only being polite!”

I peeked through my arms through the narrow slit they made as I held my knees.

Ambassador's Ball...he can't mean....I saw him screwing a woman in the coatroom...how can he? I thought. Is this why he's so angry?

I was there with my parents that weekend. Another boring function I was forced to attend to make them look good in their social circles. I sat next to the British Ambassador's daughter, as she was also my age of 13. We had little to talk about since my English was only fair and she did not speak Spanish. She said she knew a little French. My mother taught me but I never used it—we always spoke in our native Catalan at home.

And so, we did as any awkward teens would do and we decided to hold hands coyly and smile at each other.

I knew my mother and I knew she was not doing the same thing my father was that night. My mother was a beautiful sight and her smile was confident and radiant when she was not with him. It was easy to see how many would love her charm and grace.

I could still hear him panting and groaning like the monster he was and I felt my stomach begin to churn.

“Do you love me, Victoria?” I heard him say, followed by a deathly weak response. “Do worship me? I am your savior, your god, Victoria! Remember who you are and what you would be without me.” He paused for a moment and I felt an icy glare upon me.

“Do you love Vega?” he asked and I could hear the evil in his intonation. I feared to hear her speak.

“Yes,” she moaned. With another violent thrust, he slammed into her again, crushing her hips against the wall. He slapped her face.

“You abominable whore!” he roared and I hugged myself close and shut my eyes tight. “I should slit your throat now for having something so unnatural in my house! God will damn you, woman!”

I could hear my mother practically choking on her tears as she fought to speak.

“No, it's not like that. I could never...never...”

“Shut up!” and he continued his thrusts. I couldn't hear her speak anymore and he seemed quiet but I knew it was still happening. I heard him growl something inaudible in her ear and then I saw him throw her to the floor again, her body making a loud smack as it hit the cold, marble floor.

“She's yours now, boy.” Father growled and I heard him finally disappear down the corridor.

“Mama! Mama!” I cried, crawling on my hands and knees to her. “Oh God, Mama!” I said as I pulled her up and held her in my arms. She lifted her head slowly to look at me.

“Vega...”

I touched her face gently and my eyes trailed down to her dress. I saw blood staining the end and a small trail on the floor and I dare not look again. She smiled her faint heavenly smile at me. My eyes widened and my hands began to shake.

“Mama, you're...”

“Help me up, elmeuamor. Get me to the bath.” she said, not even seeming to care that she bled. I was growing taller by the month but still my strength waned. I could not take her into my arms to carry her as I wished so I did my best to brace my arms around her and she held to my shoulders. I walked carefully as she stumbled weakly now and again, throwing off her high heels somewhere in the corridor as she walked. Her tan stockings were ripped and hung loosely around her ankles. Her immaculate hairdo was tussled and wrecked.

I finally made it to her master bathroom and sat her gently on the toilet. Then, I began the water in her white porcelain tub. As I waited for it to fill, she looked at me quietly.

“Ok, Vega. Help me.” she said.

“Mother...” I said softly, questioning her.

She sighed but it was not in annoyance; she sighed in complete exhaustion.

“Vega, I know...that you don't want to do this...but, you don't have to look. Just...unzip my dress. I'll do the rest.” and so I did. I watched her dress fall to the floor and I turned my back as she continued to undress. I knew I should have left then but a part of me could not bear to leave her in that state. She wrapped a towel around her body and beckoned me.

“Ok, take my hand now. I'll be alright. I promise.” I did so and I turned my head away again as she slowly sank into the water, and she hissed as the warmth stung her wounds.

“Mother, are you alright?” I said in some alarm, holding to her hand and crouched down beside her.

“Oh yes, Vega. I'm fine!” she said cheerily. I tried not to notice as the water suddenly turned a pale shade of red.

“Mother...I think you need to go to hospital,” I said quietly. I could see bruises forming all over her back and ribs. Her blue eyes widened and she squeezed my hand.

“No! I cannot go!” she cried in horror. “They mustn't find out!”

“But Mama!” I protested.

“I'm alright. Your father... he is a cruel man but I don't believe him to be evil. He beat me much worse than this before you were born.” I could not believe what I was hearing.

“What?” I exclaimed. I knew that they had married only nine months before my birth. I felt nauseous again and I looked at my mother with tears in my eyes.

“What is it, Vega?”

“It can't be true...”

“Oh, el meu fill...” she cooed, running her hand through my long-growing golden hair and wiping the tears from my face. “I love you and I will always cherish the day I had you.” I kissed her and she smiled, hugging me.

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